Misty Mountain Scream
by LordofMorgul
Summary: A young lonely woman living in the ancient lonely mountains. A soldier of Gondor, grievously wounded from his zeal for the steward. A wraith living his days in the mountain's roots. Orcs who were once under his command are lost to their purpose. One of their own tries to find the way. The only thing they have in common, is the unforgiving mountains.


Hey all! Thanks for reading the first chapter of Misty Mountain Scream, I plan to publish a chapter every Friday. Follow! Leave me a comment/review. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing.

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The pine covered mountains cut into the windy blue sky as Carael snowshoed between them. She was checking her fox traps, hoping for a nice fur to trade with a travelling caravan. The wagon trains were fleeing from the battles of the east. Occasionally they would stop in the mountains long enough to conduct business. Rarey did she converse with them outside of trade.

She learned from the last caravan that orcs had been spotted a few leagues north, but she wasn't afraid. They never came this far south. The only orc she saw in her life was years ago as a child and when it saw her, it took off like a scared rabbit. A thought, however, began to push on her mind. The foxes were becoming scarce. At first she thought men were taking them all and profiting in Bree or Rohan. That was quickly changed when she sighted her first orc track during the morning check of the trap lines.

It was a morning just like this, mist swirling around the roots of the mountains, when she saw the first track. She didn't know what to make of it. Should she move? No. Her father had lived off of this land for years and she didn't plan on breaking the tradition. In fact before her father died he made her swear an oath to look after his traps and their equipment. Shovels, ropes, ties, knives, axes, hammers. All things he had gathered during his lifetime and he wanted them to be used just as he used them. She didn't plan on letting him down. So, she remained in the land, even though the orc tracks increased.

Now the foxes were disappearing. It was the orcs. It had to be. The only men sighted in these parts were from the wagons and they were too afraid to stay. Sometimes the traders would try to convince her to leave and seek a more homely life. A life being stuck in a wooden coffin they called a cabin. Her eyes rolled as she thought that such life was for women of yarn, not women of the wild.

As these thoughts crossed Carael´s mind, her feet took small short steps in the terrain so she wouldn't fall. Her eyes froze on the ground in front of her. A boot print. Orcs didn't wear these kind of boots and it was rare to see one wearing something that wasn't rags…. Could it be an elf? Maybe a man. Her eyes dug into the rocky floor. More prints were scattered about. Then she caught sight of an orc track among them.

A few more steps forward revealed even more tracks. She suddenly froze in her place and didn't breath. Blood was on the ground, red blood. It looked frozen, but it was blood none the less. Crouching low Carael continued her search for answers, this time with an arrow notched to her bowstring.

Following the trail further, she finally came upon the corpse of an orc. It's tongue had slid out of its mouth and a large gash had been left in its neck. Must have been the death blow, but wait. Its blood was black. That meant the man or elf had to be wounded as well. She followed the tracks into a small crevice in the mountains. It was lightly wooded and casted shade from the sun.

There she found a man propped up against a tree trunk. His armor pierced her eyes, she never saw a soldier before, but this man had to be one. Gondor maybe? She couldn't recall Rohirrim wearing armor, but then she knew nothing of soldiers.

Slowly Carael approached him. He looked dead. Maybe he had some valuables? A scowl crossed her face. No, she wouldn't take anything from the corpse of a man like this. Shame filled Carael's mind and she had to look away. What would her father think if he knew of this thought? Carael was a trapper not a bandit. She looked back at him and for the first time realized that he was looking at her.

"Lass." He called out to her. "I ask for your aid. Are you alone? Surely someone must be with you. Please, send for them. I am wounded..my leg." His finger pointed to his left leg. It was bleeding slowly and had the beginning of gang green growing in it.

She didn't answer him immediately and looked him over. Her father told her about the green. It would kill you or you would at least lose a limb. "I am alone." She finally answered and knelt down next to him, studying his wound.

"Alone? Are you a runaway? You shouldn't be here. This area is hostile. Orcs are moving freely. I chased that one into this forsaken nook. After I rendered him, I felt the pain of battle and realized my leg had been cleaved downward. That was two nights ago… Listen lass, I need you to do me a favor. I want you to cut out the green with my dagger and bandage it up. Then we'll escape and find help. This is no place for us."

"..You want me to cut into you? I-I don't think I can." Carael ignored the soldier's ignorance of her lifestyle.

"You can do it lass. It's not deep. I'll bite down on my scabbard and not cry too much." He chuckled and handed her the hilt of his dagger, while he placed the scabbard in his mouth and nodded.

She took the blade in her palm and looked at it. It was his request and she should honor it. Her father would do it. This was a man in need. A sigh escaped her before she took a deep breath and pushed the blade down into his wound and began cutting a straight line upward. After which she would work the other side of the wound.

His teeth tore into the scabbard while his fingers clawed at the frozen earth, his knees screamed to his mind to bend and escape the pain while the dagger cut into his flesh, but he did not cry out.

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